I’d wonder what changed her mind, but there’s no need.
Devils protect their own.
A waiter passes and I put my glass on his tray. “Let’s go.”
“What?” Vandy asks. “Where?”
“Georgia needs us right now,” I say, gathering up my things. “Not just for support, either. We need to convince Sydney to do the right thing. If G’s going to try to take down Heston Wilcox, then it’s going to take more than the two of them to do it.”
If Sebastian, the strongest, most protective man I know, is afraid of Heston, then it’s going to take all of us to bring him down. And even then, it may be too late.
31
Sebastian
It’s been a while since I’ve been down to Ormewood Park. It’s a little different in the winter, all bare and bony, a grim skeleton of its warmer self. I sit in my car, blowing smoke out the window as I observe it. The last time I was here, I got my ass beat. There’s just no sugar coating that shit. It was a dirty play, my brother riding my ass to stoke up the fight, making me talk all that shit to the guy, only to end up tossing him a goddamn bat. It was a dirty play for the guy to use it, too.
But it’s all dirty around here.
My phone dings with a text and I don’t even need to check the screen to know it’s him.
Heston: Tick tock.
Your ass better be here.
I hear your girl has a little thing tonight.
Looks like there’s a lot riding on that.
She’ll probably be there late and leave alone.
Don’t test me.
I shove the phone under the seat, knowing I can’t take it in the ring with me. God, that fucking art exhibit. Just figures I’d go through all this trouble to make sure it looked like we were nothing to each other, and she goes and shows them the exact opposite.
Because there’s no mistaking what those pictures are.
They’re a love letter.
At first, it seemed like a love letter from her, which was baffling as fuck. You don’t get your heart stomped on the way she did and still…
But I was wrong. The longer I looked at them, the more I realized they were a love letter from me. Every look, every glance, every moment captured were just snapshots of how badly I wanted her. How much I loved having her. How intensely I didn’t want to lose her.
If I thought I had half a chance of denying it, then realizing she knew about what I did to the Mustang squashed that right under its boot. It’s just something else that’s making my blood buzz with frustration. I should have fucking been there. I should have seen her face when she saw it for the first time. Her expression when she opened the door and saw inside. The way her face lit up when she cranked it and it started, easy as breathing. I should have been there beside her when she took it on the road and opened it up.
I should have done—and been—a lot of things.
None of that matters now.
Reluctantly, I resign myself to leaving the Shelby on the side of the road. It’s a shitty part of town and the Ford is perfect for getting jacked. Nothing about this night is going the way I want it to, but the sooner it starts, the sooner it’s over.
I activate Jasmine’s alarm, pausing to look at her there under the glow of the streetlight, all battered and sad. Shoving my hands into my coat pockets, I head down the path that leads behind the overgrown baseball fields. The park has been abandoned for years, but a preservation group keeps the city from razing it entirely. Past the dugout, I take the old cement stairs down to the crumbling deck. In the distance, I can already see a crowd of kids huddled around a makeshift fire, 40 ounces in hand, weed wafting through the air. The sound of skateboards zipping back and forth bounces off the curved floor of the empty pool, spray paint covering the interior walls. That’s where I’ll fight tonight, down in the well of the deep end.
Seems fitting, says a voice in my head. It sounds a lot like Sugar’s.
“Dude.”
Turning, I see Emory. The rest of the Devils, minus the girls, aren’t far behind him.
“Came to watch the show?” I take a final drag of my cigarette and toss it on the concrete, stabbing it out with my shoe. I tell